


Living a Name

by misscam



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Doctor Who (2005), FlashForward, James Bond (Movies), Rome, Star Trek (2009), Supernatural, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscam/pseuds/misscam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Try not to break the world while saving it, would you? The Doctor through the lives he  touches. [The Doctor, Death, Caesar. Vaguely implied Doctor/M, Spock/Uhura, Dean/Castiel, Jaina/Thrall, Doctor/Chromie, Lloyd/Olivia, Laura/Bill]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living a Name

**Author's Note:**

> Doctor Who meets James Bond, Star Trek, World of Warcraft, Supernatural, Rome, FlashForward, BSG and Discworld. Um, what to say. Massive crossover of doom?

Living a Name  
by misscam

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

The Doctor's timeline is not outright stated, but references to past companions makes this at least after the fourth series. The James Bond part is set during Judi Dench's M era, Star Trek is after the 2009 reboot movie, World of Warcraft during Wrath of the Lich King, Supernatural at some undisclosed time after the start of season four, Rome prior to the series, FlashForward at some point in the latter half of season one, Battlestar Galactica towards the end of season four and Discworld at no set time at all.

II

"I'm almost convinced you're a threat to national security," M says, crossing her legs and leaning slightly forwards. "You've given me no reason to trust you beyond your word and I know a rogue when I employ one."

She pauses for a moment, but when no objection comes, she goes on. "You don't respect authority, you make your own rules and break them still. You won't carry a gun but will use people as weapons if you have to. You save the world and lets everyone else clean up the aftermath. I don't know where you'll be tomorrow and you're completely unreliable, but you always seem to arrive at just the right time anyway."

She smiles faintly, remembering past incidents, then frowns slightly, still remembering past incidents.

"You have a file the size of the Bank of England in our archives and yet no one knows your name. You're completely irresponsible and just a touch mad and now you want me to give you security clearance and Q for a day for a matter of 'universal importance'. Tell me, Doctor, why should I?"

"Because you know me," the Doctor says, and she holds his gaze for a few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I'll arrange it," she says curtly, then puts a hand on his knee and lets her thumb trace his kneecap, the feel of it so familiar. "Try not to break the world while saving it, would you?"

"You know me," he says, sounding a little hurt.

"Yes," she agrees. "Exactly why I said it."

He holds the hurt look for two seconds, before his face cracks in a smile that always reminds her so much of a child. "And you love me for it."

"Love is a bit strong," she replies calmly. "I 'like despite myself' will do for now."

"It's done for now for the last decade," he says, getting up and looking at her with the one gaze she never can – or never want to – read.

"Until next time, Doctor," she simply says, and waits until she hears the door close before leaning back in her chair.

She knows a rogue when she employs one, oh yes. He might not consider himself one of her agents, but not all work pays in pounds.

The Doctor likes a whole different currency for doing the greater good.

II

From the moment Spock sees the stranger, he knows that's an alien.

At first glance, there's nothing to indicate so. A suit, looking very couple-of.-centuries, but still respectable enough and a touch retro. Human features and a human smile and no pointy ears or horns to indicate anything but humanness.

And yet. That is no human, Spock knows. A human would not put effort into appearing so, and would not look at a bar filled with humans as if there was an invisible abyss between them and him.

An alien then, and an alien sliding down on an available barstool right next to him.

"I'm the Doctor," he says without any other greeting.

"Just the Doctor?" Spock asks. "A title rather than a name?"

"The titles we choose can reveal far more than the names we just happened to be born with," the Doctor replies. "Starfleet Commander Spock."

Spock watches him intently for a moment. "You are not of this time."

"I am not of any time."

"What planet are you from?"

The Doctor looks distant for a moment. "A lost one."

"I believe the human phrase would be 'I am sorry for your loss'."

"I am sorry for yours."

"Logically, a planet is a mere celestial body," Spock says after a moment. "To grieve for its loss would be illogical."

"It's not merely that, is it?" the Doctor says absent-mindedly. "It's an anchor. It's always there to potentially ground you. Potentially is important. Potentially is possibly and possibilities is what the universe is stuffed with. Potentially, potentially is great! Without it, you'll be adrift."

For a moment, both men lock eyes, something silent passing between them.

"For Vulcan," Spock offers, lifting his glass.

"For Gallifrey," the Doctor says, then smiles madly. "Oh, and take this. You'll know when to use it!"

The small black box tossed into his lap looks perfectly normal, but hums slightly when Spock touches it.

"I do not recognise this," Spock says, and the Doctor keeps grinning.

"Made it myself! Only took a touch of minor brilliance (that was Q) and major genius (that was me) and a few small supernovas, and I had no eyebrows for a week. Consider it a gift."

When Spock raises an eyebrow, the Doctor merely smiles.

"I believe your wife is looking for you."

"My wife?" Spock echoes. "I do not have a wife."

"Oh!" the Doctor says, waving his hand slightly dismissively. "Timelines, everything future is past and everything past is present and present is always the time I want it to be. Makes it a right pain to keep it straight, let me tell you."

"I do see Lt. Uhura looking in our direction," Spock observes, raising to his feet.

"Yes," the Doctor says, a strange fondness in his voice. "So I noticed."

Uhura is smiling when Spock walks up to her, but only just and just a little more than friendly.

"I am sorry I am late," she says. "The Captain had a few problems get his tongue around Velure greetings and a strong desire to have the Velurian Ambassador's tongue appreciate his."

"I am sure Jim appreciates your language expertise."

"I am sure," she replies, lifting her gaze a little beyond him. "Who were you talking to?"

"The Doctor."

Nyota looks oddly at him, even more so when he lifts the small cube and holds it up for her inspection.

"He gave me this. Said it 'only took a touch of minor brilliance and major genius and a few small supernovas' to make."

"A gift?" Nyota asks, sounding confused. "That's a lot of effort for a gift."

"You are right," Spock acknowledges. "He must have more reason that that."

When Spock looks back, the stool is empty and the Doctor is gone, as it somehow seemed logical he would be.

Five years later, the box saves the whole Enterprise and a planet too, and only costs Spock his eyebrows in the process.

But then, everything has a price.

II

Thrall has always prided himself on looking twice, unlike so many of his race who prefer to look once and aim the axe while at it. He knows many orcs think him peculiar for it, but if there is to be any peace, they'll have to learn to look again and see a potential ally where they once saw an enemy.

So when the strange human wanders into the tent, Thrall does look twice even if it just takes one glance to know something is wrong.

The clothes, for one thing. They are not human, not Elvish, not Tauren, not Dwarfish, not even Gnomish, even if the man seems to have an air of gnome about him. Maybe it's the odd not-quite-stick he is clutching that looks nothing like the wands Thrall has grown used to seeing around Jaina and her mages.

The attitude, for another. In a tent full of serious people, the man seems almost relaxed and bubbly. Almost too bubbly, as if he wants to give that impression so no one would look more closely.

And the eyes, when his gaze meets Thrall's, seems much to old for any human. A Titan's eyes, Thrall thinks for a moment, then scolds himself lightly for such fanciful thought.

Still, he walks over – perhaps Jaina and her constant desire to untangle mysteries is rubbing off on him.

"Sorry, just passing by," the human says breezily. "Had a bit of a travelling accident."

"I heard portalling have become unpredictable after Malygos's attack on the Kirin Tor. You are one of Jaina's students?" Thrall asks, but the human male only looks confused. "A mage?"

After a moment, the human nods. "Some might call what I do magic. But I'm a terrible student. Never lived up to the expectations of my tutors. Could never keep a timeline straight. I like it wobbly."

"I have no found Jaina to hold unreasonable expectations," Thrall objects, finding the honour of his friend somewhat in question, if he's at all understanding this mad rambling right. Humans are very peculiar people.

"Jaina?" the human repeats, looking a bit confused again, looking around the room. "Oh! Jaina Proudmoore! Jaina! No, Jaina would only expect the best in everyone."

"You know her well?"

"Only by reputation. As with you. Warchief Thrall, I presume?"

Thrall nods, meeting Jaina's eye across the room. "Reputation is what we must learn to see past, if our two people shall find peace."

"Oh, you do," the human says breezily. "Congratulations on the marriage, too! Eloping on wolf's-back to get married in Tirisfal, very romantic!"

Thrall just stares. He really must talk to Jaina about her students – maybe an orc shaman could help heal such head injuries.

"Oh, right," the human goes on. "Not happened yet. Never could keep the timelines straight. Uh. Sorry."

"You're not a friend of Chromie's, are you?" Thrall asks. He has vague memories of the bronze dragon/gnome mentioning similar confused things, even though he knows he's supposed to not remember anything like that at all.

"Chromie! Oh, we go way back. Or is it way forward? Accidentally married her once. Let me tell you, dragon marriage rituals are quite something. Is she around too?"

"I think the bronze dragonflight is busy with a war of their own," Thrall says solemnly. He's heard enough rumours to know as much.

"War never ends," the human says, then seems to catch himself and smiles vaguely apologetically.

Thrall still nods. War never does. It merely has ceasefires, little moments of peace all the more precious for their rarity.

Across the room, Jaina smiles at him and Thrall realises he's sought her gaze without even thinking. The human seems to catch it, smiling faintly and stepping back towards the exit.

"I am sorry, but you did not mention your name," Thrall calls after him.

"I'm the Doctor," the human says. "Good luck finding your peace, Thrall."

"I wish you luck finding yours," Thrall replies, and the Doctor pauses in the door.

"I'll let you know how it goes," he says, and then he is gone.

Thrall is strangely certain they will meet again, and he will be right.

Eventually.

II

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" the man proclaims as he bursts in the door. "Got a bit distracted saving an orc and a human from a time-travelling dragon. Do my eyebrows look singed?"

"Um," Dean says. He really can't think of anything else to say and Castiel seems equally robbed for words, the angel's hand still frozen in position against Dean's chest.

The stranger seems not to notice the reaction, pushing a few fingers against his eyebrows. "No, seem to still have most of them! Good, last time I ended up committing a capital crime going eyebrowless to the royal wedding on Regal. Very impolite people, but very good runners."

" _Who_ are you?" Dean manages to get out.

"The Doctor!" the Doctor says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester. Duck!"

Dean does automatically, pulling Castiel down with him. A second later some black whizzes over his head and slams into the door, creating a burning, oozing black circle.

"Hell has a lot of fury," the Doctor says, walking over to the circle and scooping up something black with his fingers, quickly pushing it into a glass container.

"What are you doing?" Dean says, feeling mildly dizzy and not just because he's got an angel on top (again) and has just narrowly avoided death (again).

"Preserving the timeline." The Doctor smiles, waving a little. "See you in three weeks, two days and fifteen minutes!"

Dean manages to haul himself to his feet and Castiel with him just as the Doctor slips out, and Dean can only notice Castiel seems as perplexed as himself.

"Was he an angel? Demon?"

"I don't know," Castiel says distantly. "Neither and can be both, I think."

"He saved our lives," Dean observes, walking over to the still smoking circle on the wall. "I wonder why."

"It's hard to give up saving lives once you've started," Castiel says quietly, and Dean turns to look at him.

Yes. It is.

Three weeks, two days and fourteen minutes later, Dean isn't too surprised when the Doctor shows up again, but the bronze dragon coming along does throw him a bit.

II

Aurelia have to admit of all the tutors her son has had, the Doctor is by far the oddest and yet the most knowledgeable of them all, as if Minerva has taken his wits but given him wisdom as a trade.

But today she is really questioning the wisdom of debating names with someone as attached to his own as her son.

"If you choose your own name, no one will know where you come from," Gaius says irritably.

"They will know what you choose to tell them," the Doctor counters. "Names have powers, as the Babylonians knew."

"But a self-chosen name would have even more power," Gaius points out. "It would reveal much more about you than what family you came from, Doctor."

The Doctor looks almost impressed for a moment. "Your given name can also acquire new meaning over time, Caesar. It may even become a title to others."

For a moment, Aurelia feels something almost like a chill watching the two, as if something in her is a little scared. But that is absurd – it is merely her son and his tutor, having a discussion. She is not looking at two scary figures. She is not.

"One day, the whole world will know the name Gaius Julius Caesar and my deeds," the boy says quietly. "Will they know yours?"

The Doctor looks up at Aurelia, and the chill seems to settle in her bones.

"I hope not," he says.

II

A new patient always have the potential for a surprise, but Olivia Benford's newest still manages to give the word new meaning, knocking on her office door and cheerfully declaring himself to need his head examined.

"Caesar accidentally hit you with the head of a statue of Isis?" she repeats, and her patient nods vigorously.

"We disagreed on the shape of Cleopatra's nose. I might accidentally have changed it with some face-melting ooze from hell."

Head injury, she concludes in her head. Or possible mental illness, she'll have to get him examined to know for sure. She touches her forehead slightly, watching him wearily. He, on the other hand, looks almost cheerful despite claimed injuries.

Maybe it won't hurt to get him committed. Just to be safe.

"I had a doctor as a companion once," he offers. "Martha Jones. Martha Jones-Smith now. She was brilliant! I like doctors. Always trying to mend something and then moving on to the next hurt. I like you, doctor Simcoe."

"Doctor Benford," she corrects automatically, then inhales sharply. "Why did you call me Simcoe?"

"Details!" the Doctor says dismissively. "I save the world and everyone always get stuck on the minor details I get timely-wimely wrong."

"You save the world?" she echoes. "Where were you when the flashforward happened, then?"

He looks apologetic. "It was a fixed event! It was a flash of a future that you had to have the flash to make happen – you try separating something so entangled!"

"And it couldn't be changed?"she asks, wondering why she's even having this conversation. Maybe it's because of how utterly sincere he sounds sprout utter nonsense and impossibilities.

"Time can be changed," he says absent-mindedly. "But always at a cost."

"Who decides if it's worth it?"

"I do."

He doesn't even look apologetic at that, but his face does soften after a moment.

"I see all of time. I see all the costs, and all the gains. You just see the present ones. You see the loss of your marriage to Mark, you don't yet see the gain of..."

"Olivia, I.... Oh, I do apologize," Lloyd says, and she turns to see him in the doorway, looking a bit awkwardly at both her and her patient. "They said you didn't have any patients right now."

"I didn't," she replies. "He barged in on his own. Lloyd Simcoe, this is..."

"The Doctor," the Doctor says, waving cheerfully. "I am sorry I couldn't prevent the flashforward, but it would have imploded your world."

Lloyd looks as baffled as Olivia feels and she has a sudden absurd urge to want to see him laugh, to want to laugh herself. A stranger claiming a title as a name and Caesar for an acquaintance is not the strangest thing to happen in her life of late, but at least it's a better candidate for a few giggles than most of the rest of her life.

"And not just your worlds, all your alternate ones," the Doctor goes on. "It's like dominoes, break time in one and they all wobble into each other."

He flicks his hand in a brief mime of falling over and then seems to notice the confused stars.

"Alternate worlds? You know, alternate worlds."

"I do believe in the many-worlds-theory," Lloyd acknowledges after a moment, shooting Olivia a brief glance. "Alternate versions of ourselves making different choices and living them out in different worlds."

"You're more right than you know," the Doctor says, smiling distantly at something. "Never lose someone in another world. Take my word for it."

For all he sounds mad, Olivia can believe he's lost someone just from the tone of his voice and she fights an urge to pat his hand comfortingly. She knows what it is like to lose something. She is learning what it is like to gain something, too, and she feels Lloyd look at her.

"Don't lose someone in this world either," the Doctor goes on, giving Lloyd a pointed glance. "I'll get Bryce to look at my head wound. He hasn't... Yet....?"

"What?" Olivia asks, wondering if the Doctor is actually causing head injuries rather than having them. It sure feels like her head has been hit with something. "Bryce is still here."

"Good, good," the Doctor says, sounding pleased. "And you two...? Not yet...?"

"That is none of your business," Lloyd says sharply, taking a step towards her, almost as if that would shield her somehow.

"None of my business," the Doctor acknowledges. "Just my bonus. Oh, and Olivia? Look twice before you cross the street tomorrow at 7.32."

Before she can even ask what that means, he walks out the door, leaving her and Lloyd to stare at each other.

The next day, she is not entirely surprised when she finds out the Doctor disappeared from care during the night, and only a little surprised to hear the night guard is claiming there were 'aliens, I swear aliens!' all over the hospital during the same night. ('And a dragon, I swear a dragon!')

(She does look twice crossing the street the day after, and thus manages to pull the child who doesn't out of the path of the very fast-moving truck.)

She is not at all surprised when she meets the Doctor again; she is surprised when he simply asks for help.

II

"Bill?" Laura asks, feeling a cool hand against her forehead. But when she opens her eyes, it isn't Bill. It's a much younger face, but much older eyes.

"I'm the Doctor," the stranger says, and she feels his hand at her elbow. She closes her eyes against a wave of pain, then opens them again when she feels the prick of a needle.

"These are good drugs," he says gently. "My friend Olivia is a good doctor. These will help you hang on just a little longer."

"I am dying," she murmurs.

"Yes, Laura, you are. But not yet. There is something you need to see through."

"You sound like Bill," she says, laughing a little bitterly. "He has troubles letting go. I've lived for our survival, I've lived for the Fleet, I've lived for Earth, I've lived for Bill. Can't I die for me now? I'm so tired of fighting death."

"I know," he says. "Sometimes surviving is a curse. I know. You're almost done, Laura Roslin."

He touches her forehead against, almost like giving her a blessing, and then he slips out if sight. She struggles to lift her head to watch, but can't muster the strength.

"Doctor?" she calls, and she hears his steps halt. "When are you done?"

"I don't know yet," he says, and his voice sounds distant. "Maybe I will see you when I am."

She listens to his steps grow fainter and then gone totally, before she hears very faintly something like an ancient groan, not utterly unlike Galactica's noises all around her. They're always there.

She would like to hear the silence of just sky once more, just once before she dies.

She will.

II

DOCTOR.

"Death," the Doctor says, inclining his head lightly.

YOU COME HERE OFTEN.

"I am waiting for a supernova," the Doctor explains, but the skull regarding him remains impassive

THAT STAR WILL NOT DIE FOR ANOTHER THOUSAND YEARS, Death says after a moment, reaching into his robe and pulling out an hourglass that glints like a star.

"You have one even for a star?"

EVERYTHING HAS A TIME, DOCTOR. EVEN TIME LORDS.

"I know," the Doctor says. His voice is as cold as space. "I ended theirs."

I KNOW, Death says. MY NON-PERSONIFIED COLLEAGUE OF YOUR WORLD IS A COMPANION OF YOURS.

"Death as a companion," the Doctor says, almost to himself. "I always break something when I save the world. I always bring death when I save lives."

FOR THE GREATER GOOD...

"I do lesser evils." The Doctor pauses, touching the TARDIS absent-mindedly. "Always a cost."

YET YOU CONTINUE.

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor says, watching the Discworld move quietly through space on turtleback. "How can I not?"

YES, Death agrees. WE ALL ARE WHAT WE MAKE OURSELVES TO BE. YOU ARE THE DOCTOR. I AM THE ONLY THING YOU CANNOT MEND.

"I denied you Donna," the Doctor says, pride and defiance in his voice.

NO. YOU DELAYED ME. YOU ARE VERY GOOD AT DELAYING. BUT ONE DAY, DOCTOR, YOU WILL MEET A VERSION OF ME FOR THE FINAL TIME. UNTIL THEN.

"Until then," the Doctor agrees. "It might be some time."

I WOULD EXPECT NOTHING LESS OF A TIME LORD, Death says, and for a moment, his eye-sockets seem to have a glint to them. DOCTOR?

"Yes?"

TRY NOT TO CHEAT.

"You know me."

YES. EXACTLY WHY I SAID IT.

II

"I saved the world," the Doctor says, leaning against the rail on her balcony.

"I heard," M says, still watching him calmly from her bed. "I think the whole world heard that reversed supernova absorbing another supernova. Did you come just to tell me that?"

He doesn't quite answer, eyes on the horizon. Sometimes she wonders what he sees there. Sometimes she thinks maybe what he doesn't see is the most interesting of all.

He comes, he saves the day (and sometimes gets the woman), he doesn't stay. He is the Doctor, but more like a trauma surgeon, always moving on to the next crisis.

She knows what that feels like.

"No," he finally says.

She nods, wrapping the robe around her as she joins him out on the balcony. It's a clear, clear evening, the lights of London just a little brighter than the lights of the stars.

"It's nice to sometimes remember what you're protecting," she says casually.

"I remember everything," he says. "I never forget. I just like to remind myself."

They stand in silence for a while, both watching the life below them, until M has a thought and looks sharply up at him. "You saved the world. What did you break?"

"Now that you mention it..."

FIN


End file.
